


A Strange New World

by White_Noise



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: And a Giant Turtle in there somewhere, Cable Street Particulars, Discworld Re-write, Gen, Wizards and Assassins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Noise/pseuds/White_Noise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if, instead of London, the events of Skyfall had taken place in the Discworlds most famous city, Ankh-Morpork?</p>
<p>This is the story of James Bond, former Assassin and member of the Cable Street Particulars. </p>
<p>Story is now a chapter fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I have no idea where this came from. One moment I was reading one of my many Pratchett novels, the next, this was in my head. I have been writing all of Skyfall as it would relate to the Discworld but I thought I would submit this little bit, showing one of the most popular scenes in the movie, just to get an idea if this story is worth continuing. 
> 
> If so, I already have lots of ideas ready and waiting.
> 
> Note: Due to the impressive interest in this plot, this story is now a preview of the whole story, the start of which is the next chapter.

Upper Broadway was quiet as Bond walked towards the huge building, the early hour meaning only the few guards on night duty and the hardest of the city's low lives were active. 

Before him, the Royal Art Museum loomed over everything. A dark giant looming over the smaller buildings. He climbed up the steps, pulling the door open and dropping a penny in the donation box, nodding at Sir Reynold Stitched, the curator. That man had been the curator for as long as Bond could remember, back when he had been a child, visiting with his classmates from the Assassins Guild.

He made his way to the east gallery of the building, mostly by memory, remembering the sound of hurrying footsteps of the other young assassins around him as they all tried to slip out from under the watchful eyes of their teachers.

The memories faded, Bond finding himself in the correct wing. This was where he had been ordered to wait for the arrival of the new Quartermaster and fellow Particular Q. (And yes, Bond had questioned the name. Apparently it was his true name, not just a representation of his title. No doubt that name was a nightmare to grow up with.) 

Finding a seat, he looked across the room at the painting before him. Tucker's 'Large Ship being towed by Smaller Ship'.

Ignoring his surroundings, the broken Particular let his mind run wild. Run back to the past, where everything had been so simple.

A young man approached him, taking the seat beside him. He had wild dark hair and a pair of expensive glasses were balanced on his nose, an unusual look for a Morporkian. Bond ignored him. 

There were a few more moments of silence before the young man spoke.

"Always makes me feel a little melancholy, a grand old warship being ominously hauled away for scrap."

He sighed and turned to look at Bond, who was watching him from the corner of his eyes.

"The inevitability of time, don't you think. What do you see?" 

Bonds eyes fell to look at the young man, no boy's sleeve. Although the boy was dressed like any normal Morporkian, there was a small star sewn into the sleeve of his jacket. 

Ah. A wizard. No one else would wear stars unless they wanted to be turned into something small and green. Bond had little time for that sort. Far too flashy and ignorant of the people around them. Far too interested in ripping holes in the fabric of reality and playing around with big pots filled with green bubbly stuff. No, Bond couldn't care less about wizards. 

"A bloody big ship." He replied sharply. "Excuse me."

The Particular made to rise to his feet, hoping to find his contact in the next wing over.

"Double O Seven" The boy said, his voice barley rising above a whisper. 

Bond cringed but sat back down. 

"I'm your new Quartermaster." The boy continued. 

"You must be joking." Bond muttered. This boy seriously thought he could be the Particulars Quartermaster? Hell, this boy thought he could be a watchman? It was laughable. Commander Vimes must have been out of his mind when he had hired this kid. Or M. Given her recent calls, it was possible that this was all a big joke she was playing.

"Why? Because I'm not an alchemist?" The boy questioned, clearly seeing through Bonds carefully hidden disgust. 

"Because you're a wizard" Bond shot accusingly. 

"My magical ability is hardly relevant." 

"Your competency is." 

"Alchemy sciences are no guarantee of efficiency." 

"And magic is no guarantee of innovation" 

"I will wager I can do more damage, sitting in my lab with my magical runes, then you can do in a year with your crossbow." The boy challenged. 

"Oh, so why do you need me?" Bond asked, actually interested in how the boy would swing this to his advantage. 

The boy shrugged.

"Every now and then, a blunt object needs to be swung." He said, his eyes carefully fixed on the painting and not looking at the Particular next to him.

Bond looked at him, eyebrows raised. Good answer.

"Or not swung. It's hard to know which, playing with runes." 

The young man finally turned and looked at him, waiting for the next shot. But Bond was suitably impressed and ready to take a chance. 

"Q" He greeted, raising his hand.

Q smiled, clearly relieved that Bond wasn't going to challenge him again. The wizard raised his own hand, shaking Bonds.

"Double O Seven." 

The wizard released the assassins hand and turned, pulling documents out of his coat. For a brief second, Bond could see the Anhk-Morpork Watch Badge pinned to the inside pocket of the coat before it was once again hidden from view, Q handing him some papers. 

"A Ticket on the next boat to Klatch." The wizard commented, handing it over. "And this." 

He handed a wooden case over. Bond opened it, revealing a small, state of the art crossbow. 

"Burleigh and Stronginthearm, self loading crossbow. I've enchanted the handle so only you will be able to fire it." 

Q reached into his jacket again and pulled out a small cage. 

"And this is an emergency imp. If you find yourself in trouble, release him and he will find his way back to us with your location."

"Hi Mister!" The imp squeaked from behind the bars of its cage. Bond took the items with ill grace, shoving the cage into his pocket and ignoring the imps cry.

"A crossbow and an imp. Not exactly Hogswatch." He muttered. 

"Were you expecting an exploding pencil?" Q asked. "I'm not an alchemist. We don't really go in for that sort of thing." 

Q stood up, turning his back on the former assassin, which was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Seemingly realizing his mistake, he turned again to face Bond. 

"If it's at all possible, try to bring everything back in one piece." He said.

He turned his back to the assassin again, making his way out of the gallery. 

Bond sat in stunned silence for a while. 

So, a wizard was the new Quartermaster of the Cable Street Particulars. Strange new world. 


	2. And so it begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if, instead of London, the events of Skyfall had taken place in the Discworlds most famous city, Ankh-Morpork?
> 
> This is the story of James Bond, former Assassin and member of the Cable Street Particulars. 
> 
> Story is now a chapter fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people were interested in my little snippet that I decided to give you more. So here, from the very start. I present to you 'Skyfall: A Discworld Rewrite'
> 
> Currently UnBeta'd. My normal Beta isn't a fan of the Discworld series and doesn't get it.

This is the Discworld. A great world, so much like the planets which you or I inhabit. Like our own planets, it floats through space. 

However, I am almost certain your planet does not sit atop four great elephants, which, inexplicably, stand in a perfect circle on the shell of a giant turtle. Well, I know my planet doesn't. But maybe yours does.

This is a story set on this disc world, which, as its name suggests, is indeed shaped like a disc. It would be impossible for it to sit atop its circus act of steeds any other way.

Now zoom in. To the dark, razor sharp mountains of the Ramtops. Two horses race along the dim paths, their riders seemingly stuck in a dangerous race.

A sharp turn. 

The rider at the front turned and aims a crossbow. The bolt is forced out, slamming into the second riders shoulder. There is a wince but the second rider forced his steed on.

Some way behind them, a third rider, this one female, pulls her horse up sharp, turning its head to another path. She disappears. 

Now the two riders can see why. In front of them, blocking their path is a stage coach, the big, bulky vehicle blocking the narrow path along the cliff edge. The first rider reacts, tucking the wrapped object under his arm and climbing out of the saddle. 

He jumps. 

For a moment he is flying before gravity finally remembers him and slams him onto the roof of the carriage. The driver turns in his seat, shouts something at the man before seeing his face. He screams and jumps, flinging himself onto a passing tree as it rushes past. 

The second rider ignores it, urging his horse faster. 

Finally, he is close enough and throws himself from the saddle. His blond hair flashes in the fading light.

He hits the side, almost slipping off before he catches himself. The first man Swings his fist, almost catching the blond man on the side of the head before he ducks.

Far above them, the woman pulls her horse to a stop and throws herself off, grabbing at her crossbow. She runs to the edge, searching for the carriage. It is slowly drawing near. Soon it would be close enough, balancing on the cliff edge before her.

She ducks down, raising the crossbow. Then she reaches for her belt, pulling out the paper with her orders.

'If you have it, take the shot' is written on it.

She peers down her sight at the two men. She has the shot. But it's not clean. Should she take it?

She looks at the paper again as below her, the men weave around each other. 

Take the shot.

The carriage is as close as it is going to get. A few more moments and it will be out of range.

Take the shot.

Take the shot.

TAKE THE SHOT!

She peers down her sight once more, preys to whichever god is listening and pulls the trigger.

The bolt shoots past the first man and wings the second, cutting into his shirt sleeve before flying away. It's enough to push the man off balance.

A fatal error on a cliff.

The blond man falls, disappearing into the chasm. 

The first man looks up. He smiles, noticing the woman who is lowering the crossbow in shock. Carefully, he adjusts the package under his arm.

Then the carriage is out of range. Both men are gone. The woman is left alone and in shock.

Far below, the man crashes into the icy cold water and is swept under, disappearing from sight.

\------  
This is the end   
Hold your breath and count to ten   
Feel the earth move and then   
Hear my heart burst again   
For this is the end   
I've drowned and dreamt this moment   
So overdue, I owe them   
Swept away, I'm stolen 

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles   
We will stand tall   
And face it all together   
Let the sky fall, when it crumbles   
We will stand tall   
And face it all together   
At sky fall   
At sky fall 

Skyfall is where we start   
A thousand miles and poles apart   
Where worlds collide and days are dark   
You may have my number, You can take my name   
But you'll never have my heart 

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles   
We will stand tall   
And face it all together   
Let the sky fall, when it crumbles   
We will stand tall   
And face it all together   
At sky fall 

Where you go I go   
What you see I see   
I know I'd never be me without the security   
Are your loving arms keeping me from harm   
Put your hand in my hand and we'll stand 

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles   
We will stand tall   
And face it all together   
Let the sky fall, when it crumbles   
We will stand tall   
And face it all together   
At sky fall 

Let the sky fall   
We will stand tall   
At sky falls

\--------

'What do you say about a man?' 

The pencil came to a stop, resting at the bottom of the question mark. 

The pencil is attached to a hand, and that hand attached to a woman. She is not a young woman, nor is she beautiful, but a certain set to her jaw and fire in her eyes suggests that at one point, she was a celebrated beauty. But even without the beauty, she is still a handsome woman, with a certain air of grace as she lowered the pencil and instead, held up the iconograph. 

Very few people knew of this woman’s existence, and even few knew her name. For all out sakes, let's just call her M.

Studying the iconograph, M sighed. 

James Bond. Former Assassins Guild member and leading agent among the Cable Street Particulars, known by his code name among the masses as 007. Missing and presumed killed in action in the Ramtops Mountains after the misfire of a crossbow handled by another Particular, Eve Moneypenny. A tragic accident. 

At his desk on the other side of the small office, M's assistant looked up. His name was Tanner, and like all Particulars, he had a special skill. Tanner was a vampire, a long standing Member of the Ankh-Morpork League of Temperance, aka The Black Ribboners and his special skill (and passion) was paper work. Tanner could notarize a form from 20 paces on a good day and nothing made him happier then to spend long nights signing away at the endless stack. He was invaluable to the department. 

Of course, the Particulars were a branch (albeit secretly) of the Ankh-Morpork city watch and as such, vampires were not welcome on the orders of Commander Sam Vimes, head of the Watch. 

But M had been handling the Particulars ever since it had first been re-commissioned after the death of Lord Winder, a time when the Particulars had not had a seller reputation. She had worked hard ever since, keeping her friends close, her enemies closer and Tanner by her side as she dragged the all-knowing and all feared group into the shadows and formed them into something useful to the city.

Even when young Sam Vimes, a man she could remember as a lonely corporal (and a little later, as a neurotic drunk) had risen through the ranks to become head of the Watch, she had continued to handle the Particulars. It was her life.

And Vimes could go to hell if he thought M would accept his xenophobia against the undead. After all, she employed more than a few. 

And with any luck, she might employ another. After all, James Bond was not the sort of man to let dying slow him down. And Zombies certainly have their uses. M would just have to wait and hope.

But meanwhile, there was work to be done. Bond had lived in a small boarding house off Treacle Mine Road. That would need seeing to. As would his effects. 

As M lowered her pencil to the paper once more, she could only hope that it was pre-emptive.

\--------

The Particulars dealt with a lot theories. Assassins took out the rich, the rest of the Guilds dealt with the poor and the Watch checked over the crimes. It was a fair system which ensured safety (Or as safe as one could be in Ankh-Morpork, the city where even thieves had their own Guild). But none of the groups looked at the bigger picture. Who 'arranged' the theft? Why did they need it done? Why was this man assassinated and how would that assassination suit his rivals? What, in a matter of speaking, was the bigger picture?

Tracking down spies from other cities across the Disc, retrieving important information about friends and enemies alike, keeping Ankh-Morpork ahead, as it were, of her enemies. 

The Watch dealt with crime. The Particulars dealt with games. 

Which was why M was now sitting in the tiny, swaying coach as it travelled slowly through the city. The coach had arrived at the Watch house that morning, a heavily armed Troll standing guard as an equally armed Dwarf entered the small building. M had been summoned to answer questions.

A book had been taken. A book of great importance, containing the names of every active Particular under Ms command. A book which many enemies of Ankh-Morpork would sell their own mothers to possess (Or someone's mother, at least).

In the seat opposite M, a man sat. He was thin faced and pale as a vampire, with grey hair greased to his head. His name was Mallory.

He was a formed Watchman (Day Watch, under Captain Quirk for a while before he had washed his hands of the arrogant prat and moved to Überwald) and a skilled military thinker. He was Lord Vetinari’s newest attack dog.

“I am sorry to deal with such a subject at our first meeting.” The man was saying, his eyes hers. “But I must be blunt.” 

M nodded her understanding as the coach rocked back and forth as it travelled over the uneven cobblestones. Mallory sighed.

“Lord Vetinari is worried. Three months ago, you lost the book containing the names and whereabouts of every Particular both past and present and every operation they have been involved in across the disc. A book which, we have been telling our allies never existed.”

“Well you may tell his Lordship, my operatives are pursuing every course available.” M replied. She looked outside briefly, noting the number of Palace Guards following the coach.

“Forgive me, but why am I here?” She asked.

“I think you know.” Mallory replied.

“Are we saying this was oversight?” 

“No.” Mallory shook his head. “We are calling this, Retirement.” 

M felt herself freeze but Mallory continued.

“His Lordship has the highest regards for your work, as does Commander Vimes. You brought the Particulars out of those dark days under Lord Winder, and turned them into something of value to the city. Therefore it is only right that you will be offered a Knighthood. Congratulations.”

M glared.

“You are firing me?” She accused. 

“No Ma’am. I am just overseeing His Lordships instructions regarding your voluntary retirement.”

“I’m not an idiot Mallory.” M snapped. She reached for the door of the coach, intending to open the door and stop the driver. She would walk back to the Watchhouse. 

“M. You’ve had a great run. You have gone above and beyond the call of duty. But see sense. His Lordship is furious. This incident has put Ankh-Morpork in a bad spot politically. The Guild Heads are calling for you to be arrested. Just this morning, Lord Downey informed me that there have been several anonymous queries regarding the current price on your head. Leave now, while you still have your head.” 

The coach slowed to a halt. Outside, the grand old gates of the Patricians Palace were clearly visible. 

“Mallory, I will leave when I am sure the job is done.” M replied. 

Mallory stood up, or at least moved his legs to hover over his seat.

“The coach will take you back to Cable Street. M, please? For your own safety, consider your options.” 

The man pushed the door open and stepped out of the coach. Several of the Palace Guards stood to attention as he passed. The coach rattled off again, taking M with it.

\--------

Through the dank streets, a man in amour moved. He was a Watchman. At least, he looked like a Watchman. Under his arm was a large wooden box. Occasionally, it squeaked as something moved inside it but the man ignored it as he made his way to a door, pulling up his rain hood over his helmet.

He opened the door and stepped though, looking around carefully. His eyes met those of a dwarf who was sitting at a desk looking bored.

“Alright?” Said the dwarf. “You the new watchman? The boss has gone out but she will be back soon, I suppose.”

The dwarf looked at the box, one bushy eyebrow raised as the other watchman looked at him.

“What’s that?” He asked. 

The watchman shrugged.

“Lord Vimes asked me to put it in the Armoury.” The watchman replied.

The dwarf shrugged. 

“Alright. Down the stairs and on the left.” 

The watchman hurried off but as he did, the box gave a growl.

After a few moments, the dwarf heard the click of wood hitting stone as the box was set down. The he heard some hurrying feet. The watchman appeared up the stairs and made a beeline for the door.

“Hay! Don’t you want to wait for the boss or what?” The dwarf shouted as the watchman yanked the door open and fled, letting it slam close behind him.

“Alright, suit yourself.” The dwarf muttered to himself. He shifted some papers. He thought for a moment. He looked at the door to the armoury. He looked down at the papers again.

“Who calls the Commander ‘Lord Vimes’?” He muttered to himself.

Down in the armoury, something gave a high pitched squeak. The dwarf looked again at the door. He sighed and climbed off his stool.

Quickly, he made his way down the steps. The box was wedged between the rack of crossbows and the barrel of Number 2 Powder Q, the crazy Alchemist had ordered. 

The dwarf reached forward and gently tapped the box. It squeaked again and something moved. The dwarf took a hurried step back.

“I better tell someone about this.” He said. 

He turned to leave. From somewhere in the box, something clicked. 

Two seconds later, the Watchhouse exploded. 

\-------

"LORD JAMES BOND?" 

Bond blinked the water and mud out of his eyes and squinted through the gloom. A figure towering above him, covered in dark robes. He looked at it, trying to make it out before realisation dawned.

"Oh." He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And lets leave it at a cliffhanger.
> 
> So, what does everyone think? Good or should I scrap it right now? Is there anything you want to see happen or any characters changed? I have my own ideas but I am certainly open to suggestions.

**Author's Note:**

> Full story starts in the next chapter.


End file.
